Same Old Story
by Selfo-Destructo
Summary: For some people, it doesn't matter where you go. When you are great at something, it is expected of you to continue doing it. For a select few, that something is saving the world, no matter where you go...
1. Washed Up

Here is the beginning of my story. Give it a chance. You might like, you might not. Who knows until you read it.

Disclaimer: I don't Fire Emblem in any way shape, or form, other than having bought the games.

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It hurt. Even the first breath that he was conscious for seemed to be trying to pull him back into oblivion. It wasn't the first time the young man had experienced pain. On the contrary, very few, if any, could lay claim to his level of resilience. _Not the worst pain either_, he reflected, as the sharp throbbing slowly receded from his body, leaving only a dull ache that centered on his chest.

He could still hear the sounds of the swirling seas, but the tell-tale signs of being onboard a ship were conspicuously absent. The ground underneath him was steady, not at all like the gentle swaying of any seafaring vessel. The ground was also grainy. _Must be on a beach_. He'd have to trust his deduction; his eyes refused to open. He wasn't sure why. It was as if his body refused to obey his commands, simply lying inert on the ground. He felt detached from his body, his connection to it severed.

He heard soft footfalls on the wet sand, causing his consciousness to slam back into corporeality. He sucked in air with a gasp, the pain returning in full force. The squishing noises gradually increasing as the distance was closed.

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"Pops, look at this!"

The heavy-set man turned to the young girl calling him. She was several yards ahead of him, kneeling next to a pile of shattered wood. "What is it, Mica?"

The girl didn't bother clarifying. "Pops, you gotta see this!"

The adult sighed. Mica was always so excitable. Granted, one didn't see a shipwreck around these parts very often, but a bunch of broken timber scattered across the beach was just a hassle. Fishermen like him needed clear beaches to bring in their haul, and such a mess only delayed the process. "I'm comin', hold yer horses."

The sand was soaked from the previous night's thunderstorm, causing his sandals to sink into the ground. It made for slower going than he was used to.

"Geez, Pops, you're such a slowpoke!"

The man grunted in reply as he approached the wreckage his daughter was standing next to. "What is it?"

"Look!" Her small hand was pointing towards the pile. The man followed the finger, leading his eyesight to a bleeding limb underneath the shattered lumber. "Somebody's there, dad!" The fisherman pulled his daughter away from the wreckage. "Go to the house, Mica, and get whatever bandages you can find." The girl looked strangely at her father. "Now!" the man hissed, causing the child to scurry in the direction of their dwelling. He ran a hand through his sea-sprayed hair, and turned back to the wreckage with the arm sticking out of it. _Just what I needed...fella, hope you're alive in there. I don't feel burying anyone today._

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He could hear and feel the shifting of material above him, some of it scratching against his torso. Little by little, more sunlight blared through his eyelids. The rough grunts of a man accompanied the scraping wood, each one louder than the previous. Once again, the eyelids refused his orders, clamped firmly shut. He sighed only to wince as the exhalation brought about a new wave of pain. _I think some of my ribs are broken._ The agony didn't stop, and he drifted back into unconsciousness.

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"Is he dead, Pops?"

The bed the fisherman placed the young man on was a lumpy one, and fraying at the edges, but it served its purpose well enough. As far as the father could tell their 'guest' had two broken ribs, along with several shallow cuts along his arms and legs. "Don't be daft, Mica. You can see him breathin', don't ya?"

The ten year-old's face reddened at the reprimand, glaring hotly at her father. "Of course I can! I meant, is he gonna be okay?"

The fisherman turned back to individual in question, adding more bandages around the cuts on his legs. "Sure he will. He just needs some rest."

"What about his stuff? What should we do with it?"

He shook his head. "That's up to our friend here, when he wakes up." The girl nodded, and then yawned. "Go to bed, Mica. I'll tell ya when he wakes up." The fisherman heard the door behind him close and the soft shuffling of her small feet getting quieter.

Ten more minutes passed. At last, the final bandage was put into place. Standing up from the stool next to the mattress, he arched his back, trying to stretch out an hour of bandaging. When he heard the obligatory pop in his spine, the fisherman relaxed his posture, his eyes falling on the 'stuff' that seemed to belong to his patient. There was a soaked traveler's bag, its contents, mostly food, ruined by the storm and the ocean. Next to that was a blue cloak; at least, it was a blue cloak, until the seawater had stained and worn it down so much it now had a sea-green color. With two such inconspicuous items, the man was unsure as what to make of the last one. It was a sword, the most beautiful sword he had ever laid his eyes upon. Granted, he hadn't seen many blades in his lifetime, but deep in his gut, he could tell the weapon was a truly marvelous one. Carrying it back the dwelling he and Mica inhabited was a feat in and of itself. The sword was incredibly heavy, and he barely was able to lift it off the ground. To think that this young man was carrying such a weapon with him, perhaps even able to wield it…_Just what are you, lad?_

The fisherman sighed. Thinking of such things was too complicated. He would care for the fellow, and when he was ready to leave, that would be the end of it. The door creaked as he opened it to leave the shed, and the creaking returned as the door slid shut. Right before the door fully closed, a sliver of moonlight fell in between, landing on the stranger's weapon. For a brief second, the area where the blade met the hilt was illuminated, and an etching on the sword was visible. Had the fisherman not had his back turned, he might have seen what the moonlight reflected.

_Ragnell._

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If you liked it, review. If not, don't. It's cool. But I do like reviews. It appeals to my pride.


	2. Bad News

Thanks to yaya37, HerrWozzeck, and MeowSap for reviewing. Glad you guys enjoyed the first chapter.

Here's the next chapter. Usual disclaimer.

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_**Four days later…**_

"_This isn't fair!"_

The soft crashes of the waves outside were the first indication to Ike that he was no longer unconscious. His eyes, feeling like lead, slowly revealed a wooden ceiling above him.

"_You belong here! We're family!"_

He wasn't sure how he got here. Everything after the squall at sea was a blur. All he remembered was the sounds of sailors screaming as they were washed overboard.

"_We deserve to live happily! Isn't this peace we fought for enough for you?!"_

Ike pushed himself into a sitting position, almost immediately regretting it. Gingerly, he touched the spot where the pain resonated from, finding bandages impeding his progress. _Someone's been taking care of me_. Pulling the blanket was lying across his body aside, the blue-haired swordsman did a cursory check of his body. _Couple of broken ribs, some scratches. Mist would have a fit if she saw me like this…_

_The girl with flowing chestnut-brown hair fled from the dock, tears trailing in her wake. Ike's eyes followed her sadly. The fact that Mist would hate him for this was almost too much to bear. It was like a betrayal in Mist's eyes. He did, after all, promise never to leave her alone. He wished she could understand why he needed to do this. It would make things so much easier._

Ike swung his legs off the edge of the mattress, ignoring the stinging sensation from aggravating his cuts. Slowly, he pushed himself up off the bed. The sun was shining through one of the dirty windows, illuminating the room with a soft, reddish hue.

"_So, you're really going, Commander."_

_The ex-commander of the Greil Mercenaries turned to the one taking his place. "That's you're title, Titania. You lead my father's company now."_

_Titania shook her head. "No. I'm leading __**your **__company. Your father may have founded it, but he'd agree with me that no one can take your place."_

_He smiled at that remark. "I know you'll do fine. After all, you were one of my best teachers."_

_The red-haired paladin didn't reply. Instead, she hesitantly held out her hand, eyes cast downward. Ike pushed the hand out of the way, pulling his friend into a tight embrace. Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and a sob escaped her throat. All too soon, they broke apart, Titania giving him a salute all too reminiscent of her greetings to his father._

"_May Yune watch over you, Commander…Ike."_

The door creaked open, pulling his attention from his injuries. _Who could that be?_ A foot became visible as the intruder entered the room. Ike immediately prepared himself to fight, similar to what he used for hand-to-hand practice against Boyd.

"_Ha! I knew you couldn't stay here. That's always how it is with you, Ike. Never one to stand still."_

"_Me? What about you? All you ever do is challenge people to fights, me most of all. You never take a break."_

"_Hey, there are rookies always tryin' to show me up. Gotta put 'em in their place. And besides, I know you enjoy training as much as I do."_

_Ike couldn't argue with that. "Take care of everyone, okay Boyd?"_

_Boyd's arm draped itself across Ike's shoulders. "Sure, no problem! Without our fearless leader, everyone will look to me for inspiration!" His arm slid off Ike's shoulders, and turned to face Ike. He gave his friend one last, long look, then without another word, left Ike beside the dock._

"Oh, you're awake!"

The small girl smiled widely at the swordsman, fishing rod in tow. A little surprised, Ike naturally fell right out of his stance, and adopted a more friendly posture.

"Pops thought you would wake up soon. He's out fishing now, but he'll be back anytime now." The girl continued to smile disarmingly, moving to the opposite end of the room, placing the fishing rod against the wall.

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Mica." She looked at Ike pointedly, as if to encourage him to do something. Ike shrugged it off.

"Where am I?"

"In me and my dad's place." More staring.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Wondering what your name is, seeing as how you haven't told me yet."

A hand went to the nape of Ike's neck, a small smile gracing his features. "Oh, sorry. My name is Ike."

"Ike, huh? Nice to meet ya." A small hand extended itself to him. He obliged the young girl, his calloused hand engulfing hers.

"Thanks for helping me, Mica."

Mica waved him off. "Nah, it was my dad that took care of ya when we found ya on the beach. He's real smart, knows tons o' stuff, especially about fishing!"

Ike's smile slowly faded from view. _Just me?_ "Mica, did you or your father find anyone else?"

Her innocent eyes gazed at him curiously. "Nope, just you."

"_She'll get over it, Ike. She just needs to come to terms with it."_

_The winds were dying down, the sails of the ship behind them flapping less and less. The captain of the vessel, a large, bearded man, was bellowing for all hands to be on deck._

"_I hope you're right, Soren. I wish she'd come with me."_

_Soren shook his head. "We all have our own lives to live, Ike. Just because you want to leave doesn't mean Mist feels the same. She's content here, with or without you. Many of us are. We'd just be happier with you here."_

_Ike ran his hand through his coarse, blue hair. "I know."_

_Sailors of all sorts were shuttling goods from the dock to the freighter, crowding the area around them. Ike looked around._

"_Looks like they're about to cast off," remarked the black-haired tactician._

_Ike reached down to the woolen bag holding his belongings. "I better go. Look after everyone, okay? Tell Mist...never mind." The blue-haired swordsman adjusted his weapon across his back, hefted his sack, and started on his way to the ship._

"_I'll take care of Mist, Ike. And I'll tell her you'll always be with her."_

_The son of Gawain stopped on the gangplank and turned, a grin on his face. "Thanks, Soren."_

_The tactician waved once more, then turned back to Toha. Ike watched as Soren was lost in the sea of people crowding the docks. With a sigh, Ike resumed walking up the gangplank._

"_Make ready to cast off!" the captain of the vessel, named the Harbinger, turned to Ike. "Master Ike, are you prepared for departure?"_

_Ike nodded to the sailor. "Yes, I'm ready."_

"_Very well. I've already shown the other passenger where your cabin is. She will show you where it is."_

"_Okay...where is she?"_

"_At the stern of the…never mind. She is behind you."_

_Ike turned to face his cabin mate, eyes widening. "Wha-?" He said stupidly._

_Mia giggled. "What's up, Boss?"_

Ike stared hard at the girl. "You're sure no one else was there."

Mica tilted her head questioningly. "Uh, yeah. Me and Pops combed the beach twice after we found you. Why?"

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Okay, some people might not like the Ike/Mia pairing. But that's not the focus. It may not even happen (unless you want it to). But I see it in Mia's character to go looking for adventure and challenges, especially with Ike. Hell, she might be dead now. I haven't decided yet. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Blaze

Here's chapter three. Standard disclaimer applies.

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_**One week later…**_

"Pops, he's pacing again."

The father looked up from his whittling, a frown on his face. "So? He won't listen ta me."

"_Lad, yer injured. Ya shouldn't be walkin' around like this."_

_Ike pointedly ignored his benefactor, continuing to examine the wreckage that hadn't been washed away by the tide._

"_What're ya lookin' fer, anyway?"_

_At first, it seemed like the young man would continue to disregard his inquiries, but then he abruptly stood up, surprising the fisherman. "I'm looking for my friend's things. That way, when I find her, I'll be able to give them back to her."_

_The fisherman sighed. Mica had told him about his lost companion. The boy didn't want to accept that the girl he spoke of was most likely dead. "Look, lad, I know ya want ta do this, but yer injuries need ta heal. Why don't ya wait till then? If she's alive-"_

"_She's alive," said Ike, the conviction raw in his voice. "I know Mia. If I survived, so did she." Once again, Ike bent down, sifting through more of the wreckage. The atmosphere around them grew more detached, and the fisherman could tell that their conversation was over._

Since that day, the swordsman had become more and more restless. Refusing to be still, he would practice with his weapon all the time, despite the fisherman's protests, and dazzling his daughter with his swordplay. He hoped Mica wouldn't be enraptured by the boy's actions and have delusions of grandeur as a result. He didn't want his only daughter to die in search of glory like so many young ones happen to do. Despite that, he himself was impressed with the boy's skill. He hadn't forgotten how heavy that sword was. The fact that he was still injured made it even more remarkable. Still, however amazing his abilities were, his actions certainly weren't helping the healing process. If he rested, the cuts on his body would have healed by now. Instead, he kept opening them back up with his movements.

The loss of his friend at sea was the cause of it. The young man was trying to ignore the possibility that this friend of his, Mia was her name, was dead. Instead, he focused his energy into doing anything else. While he wasn't training, the boy helped with whatever needed doing; bringing in the catch, repairing the nets, gathering bait, and more. Granted, he wasn't very good at any of it, but it wasn't as rigorous as his training, and Mica was able to distract the swordsman's thoughts from his missing companion.

Today, however, was a different story. With the large haul he had made yesterday, the fisherman felt as though he could afford to take the day off. Mica was ecstatic, of course. No chores were always welcome. Ike, however, was still restless. His desire to search for his friend and the need to stay in one place in order to recuperate were pulling him in two different directions.

"Let's just leave him be, Mica. The man needs ta come ta terms with what happened."

Mica shrugged, and went back to poking the crab that was scuttling across the beach.

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_**Two weeks later…**_

"Mica, moor the boat to the jetty while I get the catch to the cart."

"'Kay, Pops." The daughter grabbed the rope lying on the bottom of the skiff, throwing it onto the wooden pier. Clambering up the side of the boat, she pulled herself up onto the pier, tying the rope to the tie-down nearest to their boat. Her father followed, bringing with him a large sack of fish, holding several different varieties of the animal. It had been a good day for fishing, apparently.

"Need any help?"

The fisherman turned to his guest on the pier, shaking his head. "Lad, yer recoverin'. Ya don't wanna make it worse by aggravatin' yer injuries."

Ike shrugged. "I've dealt with worse. Besides, I'm almost healed. You said so yourself. I'll be fine." With Mica having securely moored the fishing craft, the three made their way the hut that constituted as Ike's home for the past two weeks. Behind the shed was a cart with a donkey tied to it. Mica's father dumped his day's work into the cart. He then grabbed the animal by its reins, pulling it alongside the dirt path behind the shack.

"Where are you going?"

"Into town. Gotta sell the catch to a merchant."

"Mind if I tag along?"

The fisherman shrugged. "Sure, Ike. Just keep an eye on Mica in the village, okay?"

Ike nodded in assent, while Mica pouted. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Pops! I can take care of myself!"

Her father rubbed her head absentmindedly, "Aye, aye, you're a big girl. Now be quiet, grown-ups are talkin'."

Mica's pout deepened, and with a huff, twisted her head so her father's hand fell off of it. Ike watched amusedly, the interaction between father and daughter a lot like the one he once had with his own father.

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_**Thirty minutes later**__…_

"It's over that hill. We'll be there in no time."

The blue-haired swordsman nodded, adjusting the sword across his back as he did so. His almost-healed ribs protested somewhat at the weight of the heavy weapon, but Ike felt naked without it, and was willing to deal with the discomfort.

They reached the foot of the hill, and the fisherman helped the donkey with the load, pushing the cart up the hill. Mica stayed with her father, but Ike, unburdened, moved ahead of the group. The father and daughter saw him make it to the top of the hill while they were only three-quarters the way there. Naturally, they were surprised when he stopped and visibly stiffened. Whirling about, he hissed to them, "Go hide, now!"

Both were quite surprised at Ike's outburst. Still, the fisherman could tell that the boy had seen something unpleasant. Grabbing Mica, and unlashing the donkey from the cart, he ran to the tree-line at the foot of the knoll. He put Mica down in a particularly dense part of the tree-line.

"Mica, stay here and watch over Hono, okay? Don't make any noises and stay still."

"But Pops! I wanna see wha-"

"No arguin'! Jus' do as I say!"

Mica clamped up, a pout on her face. The fisherman nodded, and then raced back up the hill, only to see that Ike was no longer standing at the top. When he reached the top of the knoll, he sucked in a gasp of air. The village was on fire. There wasn't a building still standing that wasn't blazing in a conflagration. He could now hear the screams of the terrified and the piteous wails of the dying echo through the air. Shadows of horsemen and foot soldiers flickered through the fire, their weapons gleaming from the light given off from the blaze. He clutched the area of his chest above his heart. He had friends in town, good friends who always gave him a warm welcome and invited him for a drink. And Mica her own friends all resided within this village. Now, in all likelihood, they were dead.

A movement at the town gate pulled his gaze from the death and destruction. The billowing sea-green cloak and blue hair allowed him to realize that it was Ike standing there. The movement that caught his eye was the swordsman pulling out the sword on his back. The setting sun reflected off the blade, bathing it a golden hue. Before the fisherman could blink, Ike had leapt through the fire at the gate, into the village that became a hell.

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Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy it. As far as I know, two people do. Thanks again yaya37 and HerrWozzeck. You guys inspired my muse on this one. Hope it lives up to your standards.


	4. Chase

Here's the next chapter. Standard disclaimer applies.

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"You bastard! I'll kill you!"

The armored individual sighed, running his blood-soaked gauntlet threw his ebony locks. "Foolish," was his reply. His weapon sliced through the air, almost carelessly cleaving the young boy's head off. The now-separate head bounced away rather erratically, rage still contorting the face. The body crumpled next to the woman he had murdered beforehand, obviously the teenager's mother. He stared at the two corpses, rivulets of blood leaking from their respective wounds. They trailed to the feet of a young girl, most likely the sister of the boy he had just slain. The man knelt down, using a clean part of the dead woman's smock to wipe his axe clean of the blood still dripping from it. He then turned to the young girl, who was shaking like a leaf. Tears were pouring continuously down her face. He took at step towards her, pulling her back to reality, as she took a step backwards. The child couldn't have been more than fix or six years of age. _So young. It serves no purpose to kill her._

He knew he wouldn't enjoy this job. Still, money was money, and his contract stipulated that he was to kill everyone in this village. The child started to back away more, before tripping and falling down. As the mercenary took another step forward, the child began to scramble backwards before she took off, fearing the fate that her mother and brother had suffered. Screaming in terror, she ran, but it was in vain.

Dropping the bloodied axe, the mercenary grabbed the crossbow slung across his back. Calmly, the warrior notched the bowstring into place and fitting a bolt into its slot. Bringing the weapon to eye level, he bore the sight down on the young girl…

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Ike coughed as the acrid stench of burning wood and flesh entered his lungs. Pushing aside the fallen timber blocking the doorway, he stepped into the still-burning home. So far, in the other houses, he had found no survivors. They were his first priority. The attackers could wait.

"Hello? Anyone in here?"

No response. Ike looked about the house one more time, catching sight of an arm sticking through the back doorway. He rushed to the backdoor, only to find that the appendage was missing its owner. He cursed. Nothing more than death. This search for survivors seemed pointless. The attackers seemed to be quite thorough.

He headed to the back door, roughly pulling it open. As he stepped out of the dwelling the setting sun glared in his vision, temporarily blinding him. As he raised a hand to block the sunlight, a small body ran into his legs. Both came tumbling down in a mess of limbs, with Ike on the bottom. A sharp pain coursed through his still-healing ribs, but he swiftly suppressed it, all too aware of the danger of the situation. A little dazed, the swordsman shook his head, readying himself for whatever his assailant planned to do next.

The smaller one coughed. Ike recognized tone as that of a small girl. Immediately, he sat up, placing the child in his lap. Her face was cast downwards. Blood was dripping down slowly from her mouth, mixing with the tears that fell from her eyes.

She coughed once again, this time blood hit Ike's cheek. Her left hand went to her right shoulder, where a crossbow bolt had lodged itself. Ike's eyes widened, and he stared at the wound.

"He-Help me…pl-please."

Ike returned his gaze towards the girl, her eyes staring right at him. More blood was pouring out of her mouth. _She might be bleeding internally. Rhys, I wish you were here right now_. Her face, frozen in a mask of fear, tore at his heart. Gently, he pulled out the projectile, then carefully wrapping the wound tightly with a strip of cloth here tore from his cloak.

"Ple-please, I-," another cough. "I do-don't want to d-die."

"Shh, stop talking. I'll get you some help." He lifted the girl up, and sprinted in the direction of the town gate, which was incidentally the way the young girl came.

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"Damnit. Where'd she get to?"

He didn't expect the girl to actually keep running once he hit her. _Imagine that_. He shook his head ruefully. He should have made sure that she was dead when he hit her. It was only through sheer luck that she bumped into one of the corpses lying in the path as she attempted to escape, alerting him that she was still alive. _If the leader found out I let one escape…_

He turned by the next house, nearly bumping into someone. He jumped back, as did the stranger. He narrowed his gaze at the young man. Quite well-built, with the physique and the weapon of a swordsman. _And an experienced one, judging by the scars on his arms._ In those arms was the girl he was looking for. He pulled out his axe, hefting it in front of him. "Thanks for finding the girl. The contractor wouldn't be happy if I let one escape."

The blue-haired man's eyes narrowed. The axe-wielder laughed. "Boy, do you plan to fight me with a child in your hands? You wouldn't be able to draw your sword quick enough before I sliced you to pieces. Leave the girl and escape, then at least you'll survive." The mercenary was lying, of course. After all, the employer wanted everyone dead, no exceptions. But this boy didn't need to know that.

The young man shifted his charge to his right side, placing his body in between the mercenary and the girl. As he was prone to do, the warrior sighed. "So be it."

The little one was getting paler and paler, her gasps for breath shallower. Inadvertently, the blue-haired boy took his gaze off his opponent to look at the girl. The mercenary saw his chance, and swung his axe in a horizontal arc, hoping to cut right through both the boy and the child.

The axe was only a few inches away from the boy's ribcage when it stopped. The mercenary's eyes widened visibly, stuttering, "Bu-but h-how?

At the middle of the shaft, the boy's left hand was tightly gripped, his gaze still on the pale girl. The warrior attempted to pull his axe away from the swordsman, but weapon didn't budge from his grip. The mercenary continued to stare at the boy, a mixture of fear and awe in his eyes. Slowly, the swordsman's gaze returned to his opponent, a hard edge in his stare. Then everything was a blur.

The boy snapped the shaft in two with his hand, the bladed end falling to the ground, leaving the trembling mercenary with only a stick in his right hand. The young man's left hand shot out, a vice-like grip snapping shut around the warrior's unprotected neck area. Panic set in for the mercenary, his gauntleted hands scrabbling vainly to pry the iron hold off. He felt the hard gaze of the swordsman on him. His eyes met the young man's, and the blue-haired swordsman softly whispered, "You shouldn't have hurt these people."

An immeasurable tightening was felt on his neck, and the mercenary could feel the bones give way. A snap was heard, and the grip went slack. His body crumpled to the ground; all feeling in his body was gone. Blackness was closing in on his vision, and the only thing he saw was the boy, who carried the girl he was supposed to kill, walk purposefully towards the village gate. Soon he couldn't see even that, and the last thought to go through his head was, _This sucks…I didn't even get paid yet…_

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Hope you guys like this chapter. Especially you two, yaya37 and HerrWozzeck. The next chapter is planned to have even more action, but it might change. Believe it or not, I'm writing this on the fly. I mean, I have a basic idea of where the story is going, but I sometimes change it to incorporate new ideas. Anyway, I'll be gone for a week, and not near a computer, so it may be awhile until the next update. Until then.


	5. Location, Location, Location

Sorry about the delay. Because of my vacation, my schoolwork piled up, and this story had to take a backseat.

Here is the next chapter. Standard disclaimer applies.

"Take her somewhere safe, okay?"

The fisherman held the bleeding child carefully, concern written over his features. "Lad, yer still injured. Ya shouldn't put yerself in more danger."

Ike shook his head turning away as he did so. "I need to go back. There may be more survivors." He stepped towards the village, it remnants still aflame. 

For Borges, time stood still when people died. It wasn't that he took pleasure in their deaths, a desire to preserve the memory of the terror or hatred on their faces. Nor was it a guilt-ridden conscience that forced him hold on to the expressions of the ones he had killed. It was just the fact that each and every person, regardless of age or gender, would, at the brink of death, would either have a serene look upon there visage, or a look of absolute horror. Were they seeing the afterlife, what awaited them in the next world? There was no way to know, but Borges felt that, by preserving the memories of the dead, he may gain some insight. _What could on the other side of the veil?_

"Captain!"

The heavily armored mercenary cleared his mind of his errant thoughts, turning his attention to his employer. He almost snorted at the appearance of the lady riding upon the horse. Her clothes were that of nobility, and her arrogant attitude did nothing to dissuade him from that judgment.

"Yes?"

"I would appreciate a progress report."

He sighed. This was the third time today that the bitch interrupted the mission. "We've nearly completed the second sweep of the village. With that, we'll plant the evidence, as planned. Satisfied?"

The young woman sneered at the mercenary. "Don't you dare take that tone with me. My father has your son, and if anything goes wrong here, he will suffer the consequences." She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Besides, my father is paying you well. That should be more than enough incentive to do what I say."

The hand around the lance gripped tightly, his face contorting with rage. "Once I have my son, you better pray I never see you again. Same goes for your precious father."

The lady snorted, bringing her horse around. "Since things are nearly finished, I'll ride ahead. Meet me at the rendezvous when you're finished."

Hardened eyes followed the woman's departure. _I'll make you pay for using me._ Turning around, he marched towards one of the burning houses, searching for survivors. 

Ike watched as the crimson-armored man walked away from where he was standing with the woman on the horse. He was too far away to hear anything, but it was clear they both were the instigators of the attack on the village. Behind him, a group of four more crimson-clad footmen marched into a barn, undoubtedly searching for stragglers. Unsheathing Ragnell, Ike dashed towards their position.

"Milady, we're in position."

The woman in question gave no reply, just continued to stare at the destruction that was wrought by her mercenaries. She turned to her lieutenant. "Wait till they form ranks and begin to retreat. We cannot allow any of them to survive." The soldier saluted smartly, before trotting back to his men hiding in the bush. The woman turned back to the town, the flames already dying down. Grinning, she placed the verdant helmet upon her head, completing the suit that she now adorned. _Poor Borges, you'll be seeing me again, one more time._

"What the…"

It was hard to comprehend what he was seeing. Four of his men, slaughtered in a house that should have had only dead civilians. They each had deep slashes across their abdomens, faces contorted with fear, as men who see death usually do. _Who could have done this?_ The swishing sound of a cloak caught his attention, and Borges whirled around, spear at the ready.

Crouched in front of him was a young man, the blade in his right hand marred with blood. _My men's blood_. Tightening the grip on his lance, he growled at the intruder as he stood up, the bloody sword pointed directly at him. "Did you kill my men?"

The youth did not reply, only hardened his gaze. _Seems like he won't speak freely. Guess I'll have to force him!_ With a heavy step, Borges thrusted his lance towards the boy. To his surprise, the man simply flowed around his attack, almost too fast for him to comprehend, closing the distance between Borges and himself. The boy dropped down, kicking out Borges's left leg. Unable to support the weight of himself and his armor, Borges right leg buckled. Lance forgotten, he imposed his arms between the ground, preventing him from falling flat on his face. He immediately raised his head, only to find the youth's blade at his neck. _He beat me…so quickly._ Slowly, his gaze traveled up the sword, until it landed on the young man. 

"I haven't killed you for one reason. I have questions I need answered." Borges nodded, not wanted to agitate the warrior. "Who are you people?"

"We are mercenaries hired to attack this village. I'm Borges, leader of the Bloody Tatters." 

"Bloody Tatters? The name of your company?" Borges nodded. "Why did you attack these people?"

Borges hesitated. His son's life depended on the success of the mission, anyone knowing about the mission would definitely constitute as a failure. Perhaps he could continue the charade…

"We were hired by the Vulfar House. This village had not been paying its dues, so the duke hired us to make an example of them."

The youth frowned. "Why hire you, doesn't he have his own troops?"

Internally, Borges smiled. While the boy had crushed him in combat, it seemed that he was quite trusting. Or perhaps he didn't believe that Borges had the spine to lie when his life was on the line. "The king does not allow such heavy-handed tactics. He would be stripped of his holdings and title if such an occurrence were to be made public. His family would be disgraced. Therefore, it had to seem like a bandit raid."

"I see." The boy's frowned deepened. Suddenly, a new torrent of screams erupted from the town gate. Borges's widened_. My men! _The screams also caught the youth's attention, his head turned in that direction. Thinking quickly, Borges unsheathed a dagger hidden in his greaves, thrusting it towards the boy's stomach. Turning back to his captive, the boy's eyes widened. Borges was certain he had caught off guard. Still, before the dagger could be buried into the boy stomach, the young man twisted his body, the dagger cutting through empty air. The sword traveled with the boy, leaving it's place at Borges's neck, adding momentum to the boy's turn. Completing the circle, the youth swung his weapon at the still-kneeling Borges's eyes widening as the sword approached neck-level. The strange sensation of metal passing through flesh was all he felt. Then, for some reason, he couldn't feel his body anymore. When his head hit the ground, for a few sends he saw his own body crumple to the ground. Then he finally understood. _Maybe now I'll see what's on the other side._ Darkness encroached on his vision. _Live, Taiko._ Then the darkness claimed him.

Ike swore. The now-dead captain could have told him more, but now that was impossible. _Maybe he has something on him that will tell me more._ Pushing the body onto its back, Ike noticed a scroll in a pouch on the side of the body. He pulled the paper from the pouch, noticing the wax seal, with a coat of arms embedded in the wax. It appeared to be two serpents entwined around a cross. _A message from his employer, perhaps?_ Before he could open it, however, the sounds of the dying suddenly increased. He turned his attention back to the screams at the gates. It sounded like a massacre. His eyes widened. _Mica and her father!_ Without a second thought, he dashed towards the sounds of battle.

The gurgles of the mercenary died along with him as the woman in verdant armor tugged her weapon from the corpse. Letting out a gasp of exhilaration, she pulled her horse around, searching for more to kill. To her disappointment, her men had already defeated the rabble, and were now wading through the fallen, finishing off those pleading for mercy. _That wasn't very fun. _Sighing, she pressed on, her personal guard following. She didn't see Borges among the bodies, so he might be still alive. As she departed from the town gate, she saw a young man, wielding a bloody sword, running towards where she came from. _A surviving mercenary!_ Grinning, she wheeled her stallion about rushing towards the blue-haired mercenary, followed by her three bodyguards.

Ike felt the presence of the cavaliers before he saw them. When the riders stopped their horses, Ike fell into a stance his father taught him to use against horsemen. Ike narrowed his eyes at his verdant-armored opponents. "You have different colored armor than those mercenaries. Why?"

The question shook her from her bloodlust. She took a serious look at her opponent. He wasn't wearing the red armor her father ordered the mercenaries to wear, but he was holding the scroll Borges carried with him. _That scroll was the evidence Borges was meant to plant to implicate the Vulfar House. He was supposed to put it in the mayor's house. Perhaps this man killed him?_ That was a pleasant revelation. Borges was a competent lancer. She was planning to kill him with superior numbers, but this lad did it for her. _Most likely a mercenary playing hero. This could be to father's advantage._ Raising her hand, her guards lowered their weapons. The boy didn't follow suit, however, and kept his guard up. _Not a fool, either._ She decided to answer his question.

"I am Diane Faar, of the Faar House. We, under my father, the good duke Cortan Faar, serve His Honorable Grace, Lord Mordred, King of Etruria."

Well, now you know where Ike is. Surprised? I'd like to think that you are. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to those who reviewed. You know who you are. My muse feeds off of them.


	6. The Blame Game

Here's the next chapter. Standard disclaimer applies.

Sparks flew off the blade, settling in the burnt grass, already too cool to enkindle a flame. A man in green armor sat upon a small boulder, sharpening his weapon with a whetstone. Mica stared at the muscular soldier. Around him, other soldiers milled about, tending to other things, but this man, who found her and her father, was by far the most frightening. She continued to stare in awe as the soldier whetted the enormous axe in his hands. Suddenly the constant movement of the whetstone halted, and the man turned, a scowl on his face. "Get lost, girlie." Mica gasped fearfully, dashing away from the intimidating soldier. Still scowling, the warrior returned his attention to his weapon, and the sound of rock against steel resumed.

"I see. In that case, I thank you for coming to the aid of the people of this village."

The tent was just recently erected. A small, sparing shelter that seemed to suit a soldier of a contemporary military. So far, all the things Ike had taken in pointed to the validity of this woman's statements. The heraldry, the discipline, the weapons; all were what he'd expect of a military force sponsored by royalty. The fact that the leader carried herself with a noble air seemed to enhance that fact.

"I was glad I was able to save at least one person."

The woman nodded, her silver tresses shifting along her shoulders. Casually she gestured to one of the two seats in the tent, separated by a short, oaken table. Upon it stood a decanter and two goblets. "Please, join me."

Ike silently took a chair, keeping his eyes on the leader of the militia. She took the empty seat, it groaning slightly under the weight of her armor. Two clicks were heard, her two gauntlets placed next to each other on the table. A slender hand snaked its way around the neck of the flask. Blood-red liquid escaped from the mouth of the bottle as the alcohol filled each of the pewter cups.

"So tell me, how did you come to be in this village? I was not aware that the mercenaries of the coast were so philanthropic as to aid others so selflessly."

Ike raised an eyebrow. "What's so special about it? I knew I was capable of helping, so I did. That's the only reason."

The woman took a sip from her wine, her eyes never leaving Ike's. "I've rarely heard of a mercenary who fought for anything but money, so forgive me when I say I find that hard to believe."

A small frown appeared on Ike's face. "Believe what you want. I'm not here to assuage your suspicions." Ike grabbed the goblet. He stared at the gleaming liquid, swishing its contents a little. Then, he downed the drink in one gulp, its fiery quality burning down his throat. Pushing aside the discomfort, Ike stood up, dropping the cup onto the table. "If you have no more questions, I am leaving."

Ike pushed the tent flap open, revealing the battlefield between the mercenaries and the Faar militia, when he heard, "What is that?"

Ike turned around, a confused look on his face. "What are you talking about?"

A single finger pointed at his waistline. "That scroll in your belt." A glare was directed at the savior of Tellius. "It bears the mark of the Valfur house." A hand went to the ebony sword lying against the side of the table. "They would have reason to attack this village."

Ike pulled out the scroll in question, his eyes falling to the mark, the wax seal placed on the letter. He glanced back at the woman. "What reason would that be?"

She was still seated, displaying an aura of calm, but her hand remained on the hilt of her sword, fingers rapping against the hilt. "This village is within their jurisdiction. With King Mordred's new policy of supporting the peasantry with the wealth of the nobles, the duke of Valfur would certainly lose a measure of his influence if he had to maintain this poor village. He would only benefit from its destruction."

Ike's eyes widened at the revelation. _That coincides with what Borges told me._

"May I see it?"

_Why not?_ The rolled-up paper sailed through the air, before deft fingers ensnared the object within the woman's palm. A small dagger appeared in her other hand, swiftly slicing the seal apart. Slowly, she unrolled the scroll, carefully laying it upon the table. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she read the letter.

_**Twenty minutes later…**_

Ike glanced back at his host. The woman had been staring at the parchment for quite a while now, occasionally scribbling some words down on a sheet next to the scroll. _What is she looking at? It can't take this long to read a missive_.

Suddenly, the woman stood up, both hands hitting the table, knocking their goblets and the decanter of the table. Ike watched as the flask smashed against the ground, hundreds of crystalline fragments separating in a discharge of expensive wine. He looked up, only to see the woman staring back at him. She gazed upon him heavily, unblinking.

"Did the leader of the mercenaries say anything to you, tell you anything?"

"What?"

The hands hit the table once again, her frustration obvious. "Just answer the question, goddamn it!"

Ike narrowed his eyes at the overt display. _Is she trying to scare me into answering, or is she genuinely worried about something?_Nevertheless, he answered her question. "Yes. He talked about how the Valfur house hired his company to raze this village, due to the people unable to pay their taxes."

The woman's gaze hardened slightly. "Are you positive?" Ike nodded. The woman deflated at his affirmation. Standing straight, one hand crossed over her stomach, the other pinching the bridge of her nose. A sigh escaped her lips.

Ike crossed his arms. "What's going on?"

The leader of the militia remained silent. Suddenly she began to walk out of the tent.

"Hey, I asked you a quest-"

"Stay here." Her right hand pushed open the tent flap and the woman was gone.

"Send this to my father. Make certain you are not caught."

"Aye, milady." The horseman saluted, before turning his horse to the southwest. Diane watched as the messenger disappeared into the distance. _Father, things may work out even better than predicted._

Ike cursed. _What the hell was that?_ He didn't expect her to brush him off so easily. _This wouldn't have happened in Telli... idiot, you're not in Tellius anymore. Nobody knows who you are._ In many ways this revelation was a relief. He had always been annoyed by the fame and attention that came with his achievements. Still, with it, he was never ignored. _Guess I got used to that advantage a little too much._

A stray wind rustled the tent flap, pulling Ike away from his self-introspection. The tent flap whipped about, and the gust blew into the tent, shuffling the scrolls on the table. Both fell to the ground, next to Ike's feet. _The letter…and her notes._ Immediately, Ike picked up the parchments. One was the letter, the other a bunch of words.

"It's a code."

Ike's head snapped up, finding the woman named Diane back in the tent.

The woman walked forward, closing the gap between the two of them. She pointed to the two parchments in Ike's possession. "Take every word before a comma, and you will see."

Ike turned his gaze back to the papers in his hands.

_Dear __Borges_

_I hope this missive finds you in good spirits. __I__, as well as the rest of my __order__, thank you for your service. The Vulfar family was unaware of the bandit's reprisal. Despite __that__, your men selflessly defended my people. __You__, along with your __mercenaries__, displayed great courage. It is my wish that you continue to protect my borders from such brigands who will not hesitate to __kill__, or even torture my people. __All__, especially those living __in__, or near my territory's border owe your men their lives. Whoever they __target__, they will hesitate to do so because of the efforts of the Bloody Tatters. Please come to my estate. I wish to reward you in person. You are in the __area__, of that I am sure._

_Duke Ardano Vulfar II_

Ike turned back to the Faar daughter, his eyes questioning. "Is this really from this Duke Vulfar? Could it be a fake?"

The woman shook her head. "I recognize the signature and the seal. They are both his. If they were tampered with, the diviners of the palace court will be able to determine that. This is why we must go to the capital immediately."

"We?"

"Don't ya worry, Mica. They drove off the bandits. We're safe now." The young girl nodded absently, not relinquishing her hold on his hand. The fisherman squeezed the small hand gently, smiling at her when she looked up. She smiled nervously, before turning her gaze to the cot in front of her. It had been taken from one of the less-damaged dwellings left in the ruined village. Upon it, a healer, decked in colors similar to the soldiers around them, crouched over the lone survivor of the massacre, face pale from her injury. A light, greenish glow extended from the healer's hand, enveloping the wound in her shoulder. Slowly, nerves, then muscle, then tissue were knitting themselves back together, closing the gap caused by the crossbow bolt. Sweat poured from the healer's brow. The girl started to thrash, the pain from the mending of her shoulder reaching her even in her unconscious state.

"You have to hold her down. She'll hurt herself." The fisherman nodded. Letting go of his daughter's grip, he moved to the other side of the bed. Holding both arms, the fisherman stilled the girl, and the healer continued.

Mica watched on, her hands twisting the hem of her tunic nervously. A hand fell onto her shoulder, and she jumped, a squeal of fright escaping her.

"Calm down, Mica. It's me."

The familiar voice did help calm her down, slowing down her rapid breathing, her nervousness receding in the presence of someone she knew could protect her. The hand squeezed her shoulder gently before letting go. Mica turned her head, seeing Ike walk to her father.

The fisherman looked up from the healer's magic, hearing the boy speak to Mica. "Lad, yer alright."

The blue-haired swordsman nodded at the grizzled man. "Yeah, there were no problems."

"Yer injuries?"

A hand waved him off. "Made sure I didn't aggravate them, so don't worry. Besides they were pretty much healed before the attack."

The fisherman nodded. "That's good ta hear, lad."

"How is she?"

Both the fisherman and the healer looked up at Ike, wondering who the question was directed to. Seeing as how Ike was staring at the girl on the cot, the Faar healer decided to answer. "She will be fine. She has lost a lot of blood, and may be weak for a few days. However, as long as she is cared for, she will fully recover."

The fisherman sighed in relief. He didn't ask because he was afraid of disturbing the healer's concentration, but he was worried about the girl.

"That's good. She'll be in good hands."

The fisherman looked questioningly at Ike. "Whose?"

"Yours."

The fisherman scratched his head. "Why me? I mean, I don't mind lookin' after her, but I ain't no healer. She'll recover faster with 'im." A thumb jerked in the direction of the healer.

Ike shook his head. "No. Tomorrow, the militia is leaving for the capital. Apparently, the king has to be informed."

The fisherman gasped. "The king! But why? Shouldn't the duke take responsibility for this carnage?"

Ike opened his mouth to answer, but another interrupted. "That is enough. This one is not privy to matters of state."

The fisherman turned to the new voice, spotting the leader of the militia approaching them.

"Sir Ike, I cannot allow such matters to be exposed to the public when the king himself is unaware. It would be unseemly for him to receive the news through common gossip, especially from those of such low birth."

Ike glared at the woman, who seemed taken aback by his reaction. "Birth isn't how to judge people. Just because someone is a commoner doesn't make him any less of a person."

Diane was shocked at this statement. _What? He dares to contradict me?_ Her shock disappeared, and her steely gaze soon matched Ike's._ I will not let such an insult pass!_ Her hand almost reached for her weapon, but her father's orders stayed her hand. Relaxing, she exhaled deeply, before raising a hand in acquiescence. "My apologies, you are correct. Still, such sensitive information cannot be revealed to anyone other than those who need to know. So I ask you, please do not speak of it. Now, if you'll exuse me, I must prepare for tomorrow's departure."

Ike nodded his head in affirmation, but his eyes never lost their hard edge. _Something about her rubs me the wrong way_.

Alright, hope you enjoyed this one too. Until next time.


	7. Surprise

Sorry about the delay. College is fucking brutal.

Here is the next chapter. Standard disclaimer applies.

_**The next day…**_

"So yer really leaving, lad?"

Around them, the men of the militia were forming ranks. Nearly a hundred men; most on foot, a few on horseback. One such steed shifted beside them, its reins in Ike's right hand.

"Yeah, I'm going."

The fisherman sighed, a callused hand raking his thinning hair. He was never one for goodbyes. "It's yer choice. Know you'll always be welcome here. Mica likes the company."

Ike nodded absently as he glanced about questioningly, "Where is Mica, anyway?"

"I asked her ta look over the little one. They're both probably asleep, I think."

Ike shrugged. "Oh well. Tell her I said goodbye, okay?" The horse whinnied, restlessly stamping its hooves. Ike turned to the side of the horse, pulling himself up onto the saddle. "Been a long time since I rode one of these."

A horn trumpeted, and as if turned on, the ranks of footmen began to march, following the scattered cavalry moving to the southeast. Ike pulled on the reins, maneuvering his mount in parallel with the militia.

"Got to go. Take care of yourself." With a kick, the horse galloped away from the fisherman, carrying its passenger along.

"Take care o' yerself, Ike."

_**Six days later…**_

The fireplace was unlit, embers of long-dead flames lying discarded among freshly cut timber. Two polished brass rods kept the contents from spilling out of the fireplace, leaving the surface of the dominantly azure rug placed in front of it pristine. Both the fireplace and the rug complimented the atmosphere of sitting room, one of dozens in the king's palace. Plush, leather sofas, cushioned cherry oak chairs, intricately carved mahogany tables; all were strategically placed to amplify the feeling of comfort and relaxation. The two occupants in the room, however, were far from relaxed.

"Daughter, I'm surprised. Since when did you think I gave you any allowance with the execution of this task?"

Diane's eyebrows furrowed, her frustration wrinkling her brow. Her hands gripped the fabric of her silken dress. "I saw an opportunity to solidify this scheme of yours, Father, and you berate me for it? I seem to recall the king was more convinced to take action against the Valfur family because of the coinciding testimony of the mercenary, along with the written testimonies of the civilians who survived."

The head of the Faar family shook his head, turning his gaze towards the unlit fireplace. His left hand rose, palm pointing towards the mouth of the fireplace. "You're being quite shallow-minded, my daughter. I thought I taught you better." A small ball of flame erupted into existence, shooting into the hearth. A second ticked by, then the crackling of flames consuming timber echoed in the atmosphere. The patriarch turned back, gazing intently at his offspring. "We planned this action very carefully, considering all possible outcomes. We did this so that we can accurately predict and control the flow of events that we have initiated."

Diane crossed her arms across her stomach, not even blinking. "You also taught me to adapt to changes in the situation, Father."

The man sighed. He raised his left hand, palm facing outward. Slowly, a stream of fire came forth, twisting around right above the duke's palm, as if it were a snake. "See this, Diane? This represents our course of action. With proper intellect and attention, I control its flow; I know where it is going." He walked towards his daughter, hand level with his face. Diane stared at the flame, its curving form somewhat hypnotic.

"What are you going on about?"

The twisting magic was at eye level for both of them, mere inches from either of their faces. "I control it; I know how it will behave. Even you can predict that accurately…as long as nothing disturbs it." His eyes narrowed further as his cheeks puffed out slightly.

"Does this have a-ahhh!"

The flames expanded, pushing outwards, engulfing the face of the Faar daughter. The patriarch watched with glowering eyes, the breath he just expelled into the fire now spent.

His daughter fell to the ground, clutching her now-marred face, burned in several places. She writhed about, tearing up her dress with her throes, the pain understandably excruciating. "When a new element is introduced, such as your precious mercenary, you will lose control, and that can have…unforeseen consequences."

The patriarch began to walk towards the exit, not giving his daughter a second glance. He placed his hand on the doorknob, pushing open the door. "Have someone heal you and change your clothes. The king will have made his decision by noon. Let us hope it is something we can use, or the master will not be pleased."

The door smoothly clicked shut leaving a woman still writhing about on the floor.

_I'll never get used to this._

There was something about royal palaces that seemed to put Ike off. Extravagant tapestries, expensive furnishings, servants for every menial task. It was the same for any ruler. _Except for maybe the laguz kings. They didn't bother with all this._

Ike looked at the clothes laid out for him. He had been instructed to wear them for his next audience with the king. From what he could tell, the king was a good man. Serous, even tempered, he reminded Ike a lot of Elincia. He listened to Ike's recounting of the attack with intense interest, judging by the way his eyes never wavered from Ike during his monologue.

"_Now, young man, please explain what happened."_

_Thirteen nobles sat in a single row of high back chairs. Each person exuded different auras; some serious, others apathetic. The middle seat held the king, his chair elevated slightly higher than the others. He gestured with his hand as he spoke. Ike straightened his back and took a deep breath…_

_**Twenty minutes later…**_

"…_and then Diane Faar, the leader of the militia, brought me here to relay what I had seen."_

_The king nodded, and whispers between a few of the nobles penetrated the air. Ike couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but he did catch a few words._

"…_idiotic…"_

"…_reprisal…"_

"…_they're finished…"_

_The king didn't seem to pay attention to the whispers. Instead, he turned his gaze to one of the men to his left. The third man to his left also turned, his form trembling underneath the intense gaze of the king._

"_Lord Valfur, is there any credence to what this man purports to be true?"_

_The man stood up quickly, visibly tense. "No, my king! I have never issued any such orders! I would never betray your trust in me in any fashion!"_

_The king didn't seem moved at all by his words. "How do you explain the parchment containing your seal, as well as your own signature? They have been confirmed by the royal diviners as well as yourself to be yours. Quite strong evidence."_

_The noble was now shaking. Ike could tell he was frightened for his life. "My Lord, I do not know how such an occurrence has taken place, but I can assure you that I never colluded in such a scheme!"_

_The whispers abruptly halted, and all turned their attention to the panicking duke._

"_We shall see." King Mordred turned to Ike, his expression now friendly. "Thank you for your time." His hand gestured to the heavy oaken doors of the room. "The castellan will provide you with quarters. Please wait until you are summoned."_

_Ike nodded. "Alright." He wasn't really interested in the discussion that was to follow anyway.__** I've wasted too much time here.**__**I have to search for Mia. **__His cloak swished around as he turned. The guards unlocked the door, and Ike swiftly exited the area._

"My lord? The king requests your presence."

Ike turned to the page, nodding his head in understanding. "Fine, let's go." He fixed Ragnell across his back, walking towards the page as he did so.

"Um, my lord? The clothing that the castellan wished for you to wear?"

"I'm leaving after this, so I didn't bother. Let's go." Ike didn't wait for a reply, leaving a stuttering servant standing helplessly at the doorway.

"Mark, stay back. I have to protect the villagers."

The grizzled, unkempt criminals grinned at the statement. "What's this, lads? A tiny little girlie gonna take us on? Me and my men, the bandits of Batta the Beast? Don't make me laugh. Besides, you're too late."

Lyn grimaced. _Three against one, if I don't count Mark. Not good._ Still, she couldn't not fight the bandits, otherwise they would ransack the village. "Come on, you filth! You won't hurt anyone while I'm here!"

The bandit who spoke up first grinned lecherously. "Feisty! I like that." He nodded to one of his companions. "Revo, get her."

The other brigand grinned crookedly. "Gotcha, boss." He began taking heavy footsteps towards the duo, waving his axe carelessly. "Sorry, girlie. Shoulda ran when ya had the chance. Oh well." Soon, there were only a couple of feet between the two.

"Take this!" The axe in Revo's hand flew from his grasp, hurtling at Lyn. Undaunted, she swiftly fell to the ground, the blade spinning past her.

"Damn it!" cursed the burly man as he tugged on the larger axe behind him. "Just wait, I'll get you yet!"

_Not gonna give you the chance._ She pushed from her kneeling position, closing the gap quickly. Revo's eyes widened in surprise, and a flash of steel passed by his vision. At first, he didn't realize what had happened, but a second later, the pain hit full force, the slash of Lyn's weapon cutting across his stomach. He fell to the ground, losing the fight and his life.

Lyn smirked at the remaining two bandits, sword pointed to the ground. "One down, two to go."

Batta's face grew red with rage. "You bitch! We were gonna let ya live after we had some fun wit' ya, but now yer dead! Come on, Loch!"

The two bandits spread apart, trying to surround Lyn. She backed up slowly, head twisting rapidly between the two. _Damn it, how to handle this? I'm not sure if I can win against the two of them at once. What do I do?_

Fortunately for Lyn, the decision was answer for her. A silver dagger flew from behind, embedding itself into the head of Loch, the bandit on her right. The man looked flabbergasted, as if he wasn't aware of what just happened. His shock remained on his face as he fell back, hitting the ground with finality.

Lyn whirled around, catching Mark with his left hand extended, smiling at the young woman. "Thought I'd even the odds."

Lyn smiled gratefully at her new friend before turning back to Batta. "Your luck's running out, filth."

The hulking brute gripped his steel axe tightly, grinding his teeth at his opponent. "Just cause ya killed 'em doesn't mean ya have a chance against me." He raised his monstrous axe above his head. "I'll chop ya ta bits!" He charged at Lyn, yelling as he closed the distance.

_Fast!_ Lyn rolled to the right as the axe came crashing down. Pain tore through her left arm as the axe barely caught her shoulder. Batta grinned as he ripped his axe from the ground it was embedded in. "Got ya, bitch."

Lyn grimaced as blood flowed freely from her shoulder. _Not good._ She was wavering, the pain causing her to lose focus. The bandit's form was getting closer. _Come on, Lyn! Move!_ A shadow fell across her. She looked up, the glinted of the axe causing her to squint. "Time ta die." Batta raised his weapon above his head, ready to split Lyn in two. Lyn closed her eyes, silently trying to force herself past the dizzying blood loss.

The strike never came. Lyn opened her eyes, only to find that Mark had tackled the larger man, wrestling him to the ground. Lyn stared as Mark's hands clasped around the bandit's neck, intent on squeezing the life out of the brigand.

Batta wasn't about to go down so easily, however. He grabbed Mark's wrists and, using the power of his sheer muscles, pried Mark's hands off of his neck. He roughly threw the traveler aside, grabbing his axe as he got back up.

"What, ya wanted ta die first? Well, let me oblige ya." For the third time, the bandit raised his weapon above his head, ready to kill Mark, who was still dazed from the throw. Lyn's eyes widened. _No, not Mark too!_ The faces of her dead parents flashed before her eyes. _I can't let him die because of this bandit!_ Her hand gripped around the hilt of her blade.

"Die!"

The axe never even moved forward. Three flashes were seen, and then Lyn was between Batta and Mark. Two diagonal gashes split open on Batta's back, a third horizontal one appearing on his stomach. The look of astonishment was still prevalent as his knees hit the soil. He coughed, blood spilling from his mouth. "S-so f-fast…" His eyes rolled up to the back of his head, falling down face first into the dirt, dead.

Lyn fell onto one knee, panting heavily. Pain coursed through the still-fresh wound, the rapid movement of her attack causing it to open further.

"Hold still." A soothing feeling covered her shoulder, as Mark poured the healing liquid of a vulnerary on her injury. Lyn sighed as the pain dissipated.

"Alright, you should be fine soon." Lyn dug her sword into the ground, pushing herself up. Turning, she took a deep breath. "Thanks, Mark."

The young man waved it off. "Hey don't worry about it. You saved me, it's the least I could do."

"You saved me first."

Mark smiled at that. "So let's call it even."

Lyn grinned in response. _I'm glad you were here, Mark._

"Oh, I see ya took care of the rest. Good job." Lyn whirled around, sword raised.

"Whoa, easy there! I ain't your enemy." A woman was standing about fifteen feet away from them, one hand raised to mollify Lyn, the other gripping a rusty steel blade.

Lyn narrowed her eyes. "The rest?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah, there were about a dozen others attacking the village, but dont'cha worry about them, I took care of 'em."

Mark stepped forward, disbelief evident in his eyes. "All by yourself?"

"Yup." The woman, who seemed only slightly older than Lyn, grinned cheerfully.

Mark took another step forward. "Who are you?"

"Name's Mia. Nice ta meet'cha."

Surprise, she not dead. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. See ya next time.


	8. Strength

Here's the next chapter. It's twice as long (cough 2x reviews cough). Sorry for the delay.

Standard disclaimer applies.

_--_

_Wow. It's the same wherever you go._

The market quarter was packed with people, despite the heavy afternoon rain pouring down upon them. Merchants, traders, shopkeepers, farmers. Hundreds, who usually appear in the marketplace for benign reasons, had come for an entirely different motivation. They surrounded a wooden platform, one that had been just recently erected in the center of the square, jostling against each other to get a better view. Soldiers stood at attention around the structure, barring the crowd from approaching. On top of the wooden structure stood a thirty-foot tall guillotine, its recently sharpened blade glistening from the downpour.

Everyone's attention was pulled to the castle entrance, the creaking pulleys signifying the opening of its iron-clad gate. The black metal of the portal rose slowly, as if teasing the masses with what it held behind its façade. When the entrance was fully uncovered, four men emerged from the mouth of the castle, their entrance sparking cheers from the people around them. Ike watched as the condemned duke was dragged from the castle across the slick cobblestones of the square, surrounded by a trio of soldiers. His eyes were downcast, grimy hair shadowing his eyes, all hope of salvation stamped out.

The roaring of the crowd reverberated throughout the quarter as Valfur was dragged through the crowd. Coarse insults and curses were flung at the ill-fated man. The hateful words went unnoticed by the poor soul, his pale face showing no signs of awareness.

The guard in front of Valfur heaved on the chain connected to his iron collar, causing the man to stumble, slipping on the wet stone, falling flat on his face. The crowd jeered at his misfortune. Normally good people, they were too caught up in the emotions of the crowd to realize they were enjoying another's suffering.

The guard continued to pull on the chain, snarling at the prisoner. "Up on your feet, you dog."

The former duke just lay there, ignoring the soldier's command. The other two, who were walking behind the prisoner, grabbed his shoulders, wrenching him onto his feet. The butt of a spear dug harshly into Valfur's back, pushing him forward. "Get moving."

Soon, he was atop the platform, flanked by two different soldiers. The crowd continued to jeer at the condemned man.

Suddenly, horns trumpeted, directing the attention of everyone to the origin of the sound, a balcony overseeing the market square. The trumpeters lowered their instruments, and Diane Faar strode from the interior of the castle, her new robes of office flowing around her.

The people around Ike began to cheer at the sight of the newly-instated regent of the Valfur province. The endorsement was infectious, and soon the whole congregation was wrapped up in a fever pitch of ecstasy. Even when she raised her hands for silence, it took almost three minutes for the cacophony to subside.

"My friends, it gives me great pride me to see you all here. Not for my installment as duchess, but to celebrate the values of justice. No man, regardless of status, is above the laws of our great king."

"This is the fate of those who would defy the law for their own benefit. This, my friends, is a country, a nation, of men, and women, and children; all of whom have a right to live their lives peacefully. The king, in his infinite wisdom, sought to better the lives of the people by distributing aid to our countrymen of whom were in need, and he asked for the support of the nobility. This man," her left hand swept to the platform, and as if on cue, the crowd turned. One of the guards grabbed the former duke's hair, pulling it, so that those in the square could see his face, "not only disregarded this noble cause, but also treacherously conspired to hoard his wealth through the suffering of his own people!"

Without even listening to the crowd's reaction, Ike knew that Diane had them wrapped around her finger. It was a scene he had witnessed a couple of times before, back in Tellius, when Crimea was experiencing civil unrest. _Play off the fears and hatred of the masses, and they'll believe anything you say._

"I tell you now, that this will not pass! This vermin will be made an example of to all those who even consider usurping the laws of the king, made for the good of the people. It will be a message to-"

Ike turned around, tuning out the rest of Diane's impassioned monologue, and pushed his way out of the frenzied mass. He didn't want to hear anymore. The fate of the man was sealed, barring a miracle. Ike wasn't sure why he stayed for the execution, but he knew he didn't want to see it carried out.

The people in his way didn't realize that he was leaving, too caught up in Diane's speech and the event that was about to unfold. Soon, Ike had reached the outer edge of the crowd, where the people were decidedly less quiet, not being able to hear the new duchess very well. A few were on their toes, trying to see over the heads of those in front of them. Others just stood, cheering only after they heard others do the same.

Suddenly, without warning, the whole congregation fell silent, and a single voice penetrated the atmosphere of the square.

"**I didn't do anything! Please, please don-"**

The descending blade cut off the former duke's final words. Ike stared at the gruesome scene, unsettled by the morbid fascination that blanketed the people in the quarter.

"It is done. Justice has been carried out."

The spell cast over the Ike and crowd was broken, the crowd whipping themselves into a frenzy once more. Congratulations were given freely and more than once someone patted Ike on the back.

Ike turned his head away, eyes unwilling to take in the scene any longer. He wasn't sure why he felt unsettled by the affair around him. He had seen it happen before._ They're just happy to see justice carried out._

Turning back, he exited the market proper, leaving the celebrations behind him. _But this…this doesn't feel like justice._

_**--**_

_**Two days later…**_

**Slap!**

"I said that's enough!"

The green-armored individual gasped dramatically as the hand smacked across his face, visibly shocked at the woman's reaction. "Oh cruel fate! Why must such a vision of loveliness so violently renege the compliments of one as humble as myself?"

"Because you wouldn't listen the first six times! Now go away!" The woman huffed as she spun around, attempting to put as much distance between herself and the annoying knight.

"Please reconsider, madam! Our chance at love, true love, is before our very eyes! We must seize it, or risk it slipping from our grasp!"

The woman turned her head slightly, scoffing in return. "I doubt that, since you said the same thing to both of my sisters! Now leave me be!"

But the green-armored knight was not so easily discouraged. He took a step forward, ready to give chase as he was wont to do, when a gauntleted hand fell on his shoulder.

"Let it go, Sain. Your behavior is most unbecoming."

The man in question turned to face his crimson compatriot. "Kent, how could you say such a thing? I sing the praises of the beauties who roam this country, showing my appreciation for the world around us, and you berate me for it?"

Kent snorted and focused his gaze in his comrade. "Oh, and the innkeeper's eldest daughter? I'm sure singing was the last thing on your mind." Kent's glare narrowed as Sain laughed nervously. "You are a representative of our lord. You disregard that honor. "

"Sometimes the beauty in this world overwhelms me, I suppose."

Kent sighed, shaking his head in response. "Never mind. What you do in your free time is your own business. Now, however, we have a mission. We cannot afford to dawdle." Kent turned, walking to the southwest of the town. "I will start at the southwestern end of this town. I suggest you take the other end."

--

"So, Mark, what do you think? This one's in pretty good shape, right?"

The young tactician shrugged, eyes drifting over to a stall with several maps on display. "It's your money, Lyn. If you want to get it, then go right ahead."

Lyn sighed. In their short time together, Lyn still hadn't gotten used to Mark's detached behavior. He didn't like to talk much, it seemed, since Lyn noticed only Mia felt like making any sort of conversation. Their first meeting was the only time in the past few days that Lyn could recall Mark speaking at any length. He would listen whenever one of them had something to say, but he rarely initiated any sort of dialogue, his attention always elsewhere. Lyn talked about it with Mia, but the swordswoman wasn't really interested in the tactician's personality quirks.

"_I've known plenty of people like him, Lyn. It's just how he is, I guess. You shouldn't worry about it." Mia continued to polish the sword she borrowed from Lyn to replace her old one. "Besides, he'll probably open up after a bit. We've only known each other for a few days."_

"Okay, I'll buy it. We'll probably need it anyway." The shopkeeper smiled, commenting on her keen eye for fine products. After paying the merchant, Lyn held the blade vertically, allowing the sun to reflect of the weapon, the recent polish giving it a mirror-like quality. As she inspected her new sword, Lyn caught sight of a flash of purple reflecting off the blade.

"Ooh, nice sword."

Lyn smiled at the compliment, sheathing her newly acquired weapon before turning towards her returning companion. "Thanks, Mia. You find what you were looking for?"

The violet-haired woman shook her head. "Nah, they haven't seen him. Oh well, maybe I'll have better luck in the next town."

This time, Mark spoke up, tearing his eyes off the maps scattered on a merchant's stand. "You said you were shipwrecked in Etruria, right? Wouldn't he be there?"

"Yeah, but it's been three weeks since then. I'm sure he's lookin' for me elsewhere."

"Why didn't you stay in Etruria? Look for him there?"

"Didn't have a choice. You see, I was found by this merchant-"

"Oh, by St. Elimine! Do my eyes deceive me? Two rapturous beauties before my very eyes!"

Instinctively, they all turned around towards the direction of the voice, only to see a man in an armor of an emerald hue stride towards them, gazing intently at Lyn and Mia.

Mark was the first to realize exactly who the knight was staring at, and as he got closer, Mark had a fair idea about his intentions. _This might not end well…_

--

"She's comin', boss. Got two others wit' her, a fella an' a wench."

The black-maned brigand grinned. "The other, she pretty?"

"Real pretty, boss. You'll enjoy her."

"Good. Money's fine an' all, but a little fun is even better. Come on, let's get offa the road afore they see us."

--

"Ugh! Can you believe those two?"

Mark shrugged, fiddling with his dagger, while Mia giggled at Lyn's frustration. "Oh, I don't know. It was kinda cute." Mia lowered her voice as far as it could go, giving a passable imitation of the green-armored flirt. "'Oh my lady, you are even more beautiful when you are cruel.' Gotta admit, I never heard that one before."

Lyn threw a glare at her companion, at which Mia grinned in response. "Oh, come on! It wasn't that bad. Nice ta know you're wanted, isn't it?"

Lyn huffed and crossed her arms. "Not by scoundrels like them."

Mark watched out of the corner of his eye as Mia just continued to laugh, not helping at all in defusing Lyn's annoyance. He wasn't sure why he tagged along with Lyn and Mia. The two swordswomen were pleasant company, but no more so than most others that he had met in his travels. They never compelled him to stay, and he usually traveled alone. Not for some vainglorious reason like a tragic past or a bounty on his head. No, he just simply preferred his own company. Not the best way to gain experience as a tactician, but he was fine with it. _So why am I going with these two?_

Mia was still furtively grinning at Lyn's expression, who was now annoyed more by Mia's silent laughter at her expense than what happened in the Bulgar market.

"Look, let's just forget about that, alright?"

"Aye, lass. Especially now that you have much larger problems."

The three companions turned from each other, to find themselves surrounded by six men, armed with various weapons, all drawn and pointed towards the trio.

Lyn stepped forward, her sword already free of her sheath. "Who are you?"

"Ahh, now that'd be tellin', wench. Just know that you gotta die, and I gotta kill ya."

"Mia also pulled out her own weapon, holding it in her left hand. "Then come on, then! I've been itchin' for a good fight!"

The man garbed in black shook his head. "Ah, it's a shame ta hurt a beautiful little thing like you afore we have some fun," his smirk taking on a more perverted aspect. Mia just rolled her eyes. "But money over women, I always say. Get 'em, boys!"

The six men charged at the three, yelling and swinging their weapons haphazardly as they closed the distance. The cries of one of the attackers abruptly halted, as Mark's dagger seemingly grew from his throat, stopping him dead in his tracks. The charge continued mostly undaunted, only the leader noticing the dead man's fall. His hesitation saved his life. Mia's sword flickered past the weapons of the two men just in front of him, dropping them before they could take another step. Lyn kicked the legs out from underneath the one of the remaining assailants, falling face-first into his own wildly flailing morning star.

The sound of grass being crushed underfoot alerted Lyn to her remaining attacker. She twisted around, sword held across her body, only to find him impaled upon a steel lance. Eyes traveling up its wooden shaft revealed it's wielder. Lyn gasped. "You!"

The green-armored knight tugged the lance from the mercenary's body, before bowing deeply. "Ah, milady, I am grateful I was able to save you from this fiend. How dare he attempt to harm-"

The horse bearing the red-armored knight trotted up beside him. "Now is not the time, Sain." He turned to the leader of the attackers, face so serious that Lyn temporarily forgot she was angry at the two. "You! Did Lundgren send you?"

The leader shook his head. "I ain't telling' you nothin'!"

Kent scowled. "You are defeated, worm. Your only saving grace is any information you might provide us."

The mercenary laughed. "Defeated? It's bad ta assume, didn' they teach you knights that?"

Three flaming arrows embedded themselves between the two combatants, causing Kent's horse to rear up. It only took a few seconds for Kent to rein in his steed, but that was all the time the mercenary needed to escape. He dashed off the road, plowing through the wheat field beside them.

"Sain! Let us pursue him!"

"I'm right behind you, Kent!"

The two cavaliers prepared to charge after the fleeing assailant, only to have Mark blocking their path, arms outstretched. "Don't be stupid, that's what he wants."

Kent, adrenaline pumping, had very little patience at the moment. "You are letting him get away! Stand aside!"

Mia scratched her head. "Whaddya mean, Mark? How can be beat us by himself?"

Mark turned to her, eyes piercing. "Look. He fled into a field of tall wheat. Perfect to hide yourself, or reinforcements." He walked over to one of the deceased marauders, pulling his dagger from the corpse. "It's most likely an ambush."

The other four glanced at the field. Indeed, the stalks were quite tall. But Kent wasn't entirely dissuaded.

"Then how do you propose we catch him?"

Mark walked towards the horsemen, beckoning to his other companions. "I have an idea. Listen closely…"

--

_Why aren't they following?_

Zugu crouched down next to his archers, watching his targets huddle together.

"Zugu, we should attack. They're outnumbered."

A fist connected with the mercenary's cheek, knocking him down. "Quiet, you fool! They don't know that. I'd appreciate it that you don't tell 'em our plan."

The fallen archer scowled, but kept silent. Satisfied, Zugu, turned back, only to see the cavaliers alone, sheathing their swords and hefting their lances. Zugu grinned, motioning to the other archer. "Get ready, they're gonna charge us!"

"What about the others, Zugu? I don't see 'em anywhere."

The mercenary shook his head. "Don't ya worry about it. They probably stallin' to let the women run away. When we finish off those self-righteous knights, we'll take our sweet time wit' their lady friends. Now, ready the signal, they're chargin'!"

Indeed they were. Dust was kicked up as the horses dug their hooves into the dirt, propelling their masters forward. The two armor-clad men were closing the distance very rapidly, faster than Zugu expected. Still, it didn't completely unnerve him.

"Alright, they're close enough. Signal the others."

The archer to his left nodded, notching a flaming arrow onto his bow, Draqing the bowstring tight, he let the arrow loose, sending it high into the sky.

Almost immediately, ten men burst from the field, effectively surrounding the duo. Zugu motioned to the three beside him, his smile turning dark.

"Come on, boys. We can't let the others have all the fun."

--

Had their horses not been specially bred and trained for the rigors of battle, Kent and Sain would have surely been thrown off their mounts when the trap was sprung. As it were, the horses reared back slightly, enough to put some distance between themselves and the ambushers. Sain circled his horse around, facing the opposite direction as Kent.

"They've got us, Kent."

Kent thrusted his lance at a nearby mercenary, causing him to hastily retreat out of the range of Kent's weapon. "Aye, but we must buy time for the others. All else is secondary."

A careless opponent found himself skewered on Sain's lance. However, the falling corpse dragged the weapon down with it, forcing Sain to release the lance. He unsheathed his sword, swinging at any who came close. "You're right, my friend. Even though we may die here, it will be in the name of rescuing fair maidens. I cannot ask for a better end!"

"That's mighty stupid of ya, buddy." The approaching voice belonged to the man they had been chasing, who was now casually sauntering over with three other men. "Ya shoulda ran away instead. Then, only the girl woulda died."

Kent hefted his lance, and before the speaker could blink, the lance was hurled like a spear, impaling the man on the left of the speaker. Kent pulled out his sword. "Just try to defeat us, vagrant. You'll find it more difficult than you think."

--

Zugu's eyes hardened. "You'll pay for that." He motioned the rest of his men. "Come on, boys! If we swarm 'em, they got no chance."

His men nodded, all of them closing the distance between themselves and their targets. The knights circled around each other, trying to keep an eye on all of their opponents.

Zugu grinned at the prospect of slaughtering the knights. "Charge 'em, boys!"

All the mercenaries took one step forward; then all became chaos. The three other targets, whom Zugu forgot about, jumped out of the wheat, immediately striking out at his men. The slash of a dagger and two sword thrusts felled three of his cohorts, causing the charge as a whole to falter. For a second the rest of the mercenaries stared at the new arrivals, which was all the time needed for the two cavaliers to strike down another tow mercenaries.

--

Mark smirked at the expression adorning the mercenary leader's face. _Best way to defeat an ambush is to ambush the ambushers._

--

Zugu stumbled back in surprise, his cohorts doing the same. In the span of a few seconds, the fight had gone from thirteen-against-two to seven-against-five._ The hell? This was supposed to be an easy job!_ He growled, his frustration transforming into anger, quickly overcoming his fear. Him, beaten by these rats? _Never!_ Zugu raised his axe above his head, snarling viciously.

"Come on, lads! We can still win!"

Unfortunately for Zugu, his remaining men had other ideas. The reason why Zugu was the leader of their group was because he was the strongest, not because he was the smartest. He was no fool, but his rage would get the better of him, sometimes killing those he worked with. That was the only reason anyone followed him; the fact that he could kill any of them fairly easily. However, with less than half their original number, their opponents' strength seemed far more terrible than Zugu's. Three of them immediately turned and ran, desperate in getting away from the scene. The other three, previously hesitant, stared as their 'buddies' fled into the distance, leaving them to die.

"Zugu, yer on yer own!" Zugu turned in time to see another dash away from the battle. The last two mercenaries glanced at each other, before completing the domino effect of panic, taking off in opposite directions. Zugu watched, bewildered, as his men deserted him.

--

Kent observed as the last mercenary stared at the fleeing men, abandoning him. He shifted the reins, allowing him to dismount. His feet hitting the ground seemed to shake the mercenary from his confounded state. He whirled around, his axe raised in a defensive position.

Kent raised his own sword, the tip pointing towards the sell sword's chest. "Now, you will tell us who sent you."

The cutthroat scowled, gripping his axe tighter.

"You will not survive if you choose to continue," said Kent. "Tell us what we wish to know."

The scowl deepened. Kent noticed that the man's eyes were shifting between him and something behind him. In a moment of carelessness, Kent turned his head.

--

Zugu couldn't believe his luck. They had him cornered, had him beat. But when the knight turned his head, Zugu saw his opportunity. He rushed forward, axe held high, ready to cleave the interfering knight in two…when a sword erupted through his back. The shock numbed him to the pain at first, then the finality of the blow registered in his brain. Blood spurted from his mouth, and his axe fell from his weakening grip. He fell to his knees, coming face-to-face with the one who killed him.

Mia grinned. "Surprise. Caught ya off guard, didn't I?"

More blood dribbled from the corner of Zugu's lips. "Damnit…_cough_…this was s-supposed ta be easy m-money…" his head fell earthward, and his breathing stopped.

--

Mia placed a foot on Zugu shoulder using it as leverage as she pulled her weapon out, pushing the now-dead mercenary to the ground. Pulling out a rag, Mia began to wipe off the blood before sheathing her blade, not aware of the amazed stares of those behind her.

"Well, that was a close one, huh?" She continued to rub the rub against the blade." He almost got you, right, red guy?"

Kent nodded absently, still trying to process what just happened. _How? How can anyone be that fast?_

The same thought raced through everyone else's head.

Mia stuffed threw the rag onto the ground, now bloody and useless, before re-sheathing her sword. Looking up, she finally noticed the bewildered stares.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

--

Wow, that was a long one. Hopefully it turned out alright. Until next time.


	9. Worries

Sorry for the long wait. I had a draft ready two weeks ago, but when I read it, I realized it sucked. I had to scrap the whole thing and start over. Hopefully this one is better.

Standard disclaimer applies.

--

_**One week later…**_

The snowstorm battered the border town of Cuwo relentlessly. Few people, wrapped in layers of heavy clothing, trudged through the deep banks of snow, the rest huddled safely in the confines of their homes. Smoke wisped into the air from stone chimneys, the only other indication that people inhabited this rural area. The largest building in the town had a single door, with a wooden sign creaking in the wind. Ike pulled his cloak tighter to his body, struggling against the unforgiving cold as he pushed on towards the tavern.

Like most other Ilian inns, the Rusted Bucket was a rather unpleasant sight. Function over form was prevalent even to strangers. Tables with somewhat shady characters at their seats were scattered across the floor. Smoke hovered like a blanket above the heads of the patrons, unable to escape the windowless establishment. The bartender, a rather skinny, aged owner, was wiping a rather grimy glass with an already dirty rag.

Still, the normally distasteful appearance of the Rusted Bucket was rather inviting when those outside were regularly bombarded with snow and cold winds, as the inhabitants of Ilia experienced. Travelers, like Ike, were the innkeeper's favorite customers. Unlike the locals, who only came to drink and use up his floor space, those from away always wanted a room, and were generally agreeable to his inflated prices. Anything to get out of the cold.

Ike pushed the door open, the gusting wind sweeping through the inn. Previously warm patrons glared at the newcomer letting in the chilly air. Ike ignored the hard stares, closing the oaken door behind him. Slowly, he strode towards the bar, snow sprinkling off his shoulders and the top of his blue hair. Ike sat himself at one of the stools, laying his pack beside him.

The bartender ambled over, a relatively clean glass in hand. "What'll it be, friend?"

Ike reached into a pouch with Etruria's royal seal stitched onto it. Pulling out two gold coins, he slid them towards the bartender, who picked them up carefully, biting down on them to insure their value. "Warm food and information."

The bartender nodded knowingly. It wasn't the first time someone came into the Rusted Bucket for information, nor would it be the last. He waved over to the young girl giving requested drinks to the other patrons. "Reika, tell that good-fer-nothin' cook ta whip somethin' up." The young girl nodded before heading to the back disappearing into the rear of the tavern. The bartender turned back to his latest patron, filling the glass in hand with one of his cheaper ales. "Well, friend, what is it that ya want ta talk about?" He pushed the full glass towards Ike.

The swordsman took the proffered beverage, sipping its contents before answering. "I'm looking for someone. A woman."

The bartender smirked at that. Even here in the arctic lands of Ilia, the cold couldn't stamp out the hot-bloodedness in men. "Ah, I hear ya. Just pay fer a room, and I'll send one of 'em right up."

Ike stared at the bartender, eyes widening slightly for a second before shaking his head. "No, not like that. This one's a friend of mine."

Slightly disappointed at the loss of more business, the man nodded. "Alright, what she look like?"

"Violet hair, shoulder-length, almost comes to my shoulder in height. Should be carrying a sword on her hip."

"Would I remember her?"

"What do you mean?"

The bartender sighed. "Is she easy on the eyes?"

"Oh." Ike adopted a thoughtful gaze, as if contemplating how to respond, before nodding. "Yeah, she is. Why is that important?"

The bartenderlaughed. "I ain't gonna bother with an ugly girl." He put down the glass he was cleaning, reaching for another to take its place. "Now, I don't know about any pretty swordswomen passing through here, but a lot of the local mercs have been gettin' work lately, outside of Ilia. Easy enough to find a client nowadays."

Ike took a swig of the ale. "Lot of mercenaries around here?"

The bartender glanced away from the glass he was cleaning, eyes wandering to the other patrons. "Main source of income fer Ilia, they are. Without the mercs, Ilia would have nothin'."

The serving girl returned from the back, holding a plate and a few utensils. She set the food in front of Ike, smiling as she did so. "Here you go, sir."

Ike nodded curtly. "Thank you." He turned back to the bartender. "Would they have more information?"

The man behind the counter shrugged. "Maybe. Hard ta say."

Ike picked up the fork and the knife, cutting the meat on the plate into more manageable bites. The fork sunk into one of the pieces, before Ike placed the cut into his awaiting mouth. "Can you refer me to who you think might know more?"

The bartender picked up another glass, absently wiping the grime off. "Ta tell the truth, a group of fellas have been hirin' mercs by the boatload lately. If yer friend's a warrior, she probably met with 'em."

Ike nodded, chewing on another piece of the meat. "Where are they?"

The bartender motioned to the left of Ike, up the stairs. "They paid for a couple o' rooms upstairs. If ya wanna talk with 'em, be ready ta pay." The man shivered. "They ain't too friendly."

Ike swallowed the last of the food before him, not bothering with finishing the rest of the ale. Standing up, he grabbed the strap of his pack, swinging it onto his left shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

Each of the rickety steps groaned underneath Ike as he ascended the stairs, making his way to the men upstairs. There was a lull in activity on the first floor. Ike could feel several pairs of eyes on his back. No hostile intent as far as he could tell, but the air became slightly heavier, the tension rising slightly. As he reached the top, the door of the room closest to the stairs opened, revealing a man with a jagged scar across his face, shadowed by the hood that rested upon his head. He stopped him at the top of the stairs. "State your business."

"I'm looking for information on a mercenary that may have passed through here. I was told you might know."

The man didn't answer back immediately. Instead, he circled around Ike, giving him a once-over. When he returned in front of Ike, he faced him, his arms crossed. "And what do we receive in return for such information?"

Ike grasped the pouch at his side. "I'll pay for your time."

The hooded individual laughed. "You don't have enough to hire the resources of the Black Fang."

_Black Fang, huh?_ "Well, then I'm sorry for disturbing you." Ike turned, and began to descend back down the stairs. On the third step down, the man called out to him.

"Wait." Ike turned around. "You may not have the gold for such a service, but perhaps a deal could be met."

Ike crossed his arms. "Explain."

"A trade of services, so to speak. You seem to be a capable fighter. Therefore, if you will help us with our problem, we will look for your friend."

"What sort of problem?"

"Well, I cannot give you the details, but suffice to say, we are to recover the property of our client."

Ike's eyebrows furrowed. "This property, is it the living kind?"

A small chuckle escaped the man's lips. "An idealist, eh?" He waved his hand. "No worries, this property is not of the human variety."

Ike couldn't feel any deception from the man, but he knew he wasn't the best at reading people either. "Assuming I accept, what would my part of this job entail?"

The individual gestured into the room, pushing the previously closed door open. "Such things shouldn't be discussed openly. Let us speak in private."

Ike cautiously entered the room. The hooded man followed him in, locking the door as he entered. Below them, the sounds of the other patrons increased considerably, breaking the tension in the air.

--

The priest ambled over his head bowed in Lyn's direction. "As a token of my thanks, you may lay your hands upon the Mani Katti. Pray for a safe journey."

The hilt was the only part of the weapon that was visible, the rest sheathed in a stone scabbard. "Are you sure?"

The priest smiled. "You saved the temple from those horrible men. It is the least I can do to repay your bravery."

Noticing her reluctance, Kent placed his hand on Lyn's shoulder. "Lady Lyndis, I am not aware of the cultural significance of this relic, but it is obviously held in high regard. If it brings us luck, please do not hesitate."

Lyn didn't reply, but stepped towards the altar, hand outstretched. The blade's aura pulsated as she drew closer, magnifying in strength as her hand closed around the hilt. With the contact of skin against metal, the hilt began to give off a golden hue, brightening in sequence with the pulses of its aura.

Sain stared in awe at the development. "In St. Elimine's name…"

Mia turned to the priest, who looked just as astonished as the rest. "Hey, what's going on?"

The priest's mouth was wide open. Anyone could tell he had not expected this. "I cannot believe it." He turned towards Lyn, who was afraid to move from her spot, fearing she angered the spirits. "The spirits of the Mani Katti have chosen you!"

Lyn's head snapped up from the altar, shocked at the priest's revelation. "What? The Mani Katti has chosen…me?"

The priest smiled deeply. "Never in my long life did I ever think I would see the Mani Katti actually choose a wielder. Truly, you are a special woman, Lyn of the Lorca."

--

"That's a wicked blade!"

Lyn could only nod in agreement as she gazed in wonder at the fabled weapon in her hand as they exited the temple. The rays of the sun as they came out shined upon the Mani Katti, illuminating its unmarred surface.

Kent leaned closer, admiration on his face. "Indeed, Lady Mia. A truly marvelous artifact."

"Are you finished?"

The group turned to Mark, splayed on the grass, relaxing by Kent and Sain's horses. Mia waved to him. "Hey Mark, we're back."

Mark nodded, pulling his upper body into a sitting position. "Were you allowed to do as you wished, Lyn?"

Lyn, still a bit flustered about affair with the Mani Katti, unknowingly ignored Mark's question in favor of gazing at her new weapon. Now curious, Mark turned to the others, his confusion written all over his face. Sain was the first to speak.

"Lady Lyndis has acquired the Mani Katti. Clearly this is good fortune that will bear us to success on our perilous journey."

Mark turned towards Lyn, his eyes glancing at the blade. "Very beautiful." He swiftly turned back to the animals, grabbing their reins. "We should be off. We're still a ways off from Lycia."

Kent nodded, accepting the reins of his steed from Mark. "Yes. Lundgren will not allow us to rest peaceably. We must make haste to Caelin."

_**Later that day…**_

The sun cast a long shadow as the group headed west towards the Taliver Mountains. Kent and Sain were in front, walking beside their horses, seeing as the animals were already carrying the party's supplies. Lyn, Mark, and Mia followed behind them. Mark would occasionally move towards the front of their small formation to briefly speak with the two knights, but then would silently fall back to the side of the two swordswomen.

The Mani Katti was resting in Lyn's sheath, her old blade carried by Kent's horse. The novelty of her new weapon still lingered in her mind, but it was no longer enough to blind her to her surroundings, as it had with Mark previously. In particular, she noticed Mia's somewhat pensive frown. In fact Lyn had been aware of it for a while. The concern written on Mia's face seemed out of place to her, used to seeing a smile on her companion. At first, she dismissed it. After all, everyone had problems, and though Mia was always cheerful, it didn't surprise Lyn to find that Mia had her own worries. But as the hours had passed, the poignant expression stuck with Mia, and Lyn's concern returned.

"You okay, Mia?"

The woman beside her jumped a little, startled by her voice. "H-huh? What's up?"

Lyn placed a hand on Mia's shoulder. "Is something bothering you?" _Is it your lost companion?_

Mia laughed. "Oh. I'm just tired, that all. Nothin' to worry about."

Mia's reply sounded a bit forced to Lyn. Still, she did not to push it. "Alright." She glanced at the sun, its rays growing dimmer as its body passed the horizon. "It's nearly dark. I guess we should set up camp."

This time, both of them jumped in surprise as Mark's voice came from behind them. "Not here. Best would be an open area off the path."

"Geez, Mark!" Lyn put a hand to her chest. "Don't sneak up on us like that!"

Mark looked at her curiously. "I was beside you all this time, and you didn't realize?"

Lyn bristled. "You don't speak for hours, and expect us to keep track of you?"

Mark shrugged. "I guess not." He pointed off the trail to the north. "Sain spotted a pasture over there. Best we spend the night there."

Lyn glanced in the direction Mark pointed. "Sounds fine." She turned to Mia. "Sound good, Mia?"

The swordswoman didn't respond immediately, the pensive expression back on her face. But before Lyn could ask what wrong, Mia perked up. "Sounds good." She let off a yawn. "I could use some sleep." Mia headed towards the field, leaving Lyn wondering what just happened.

"What's wrong with Mia?"

Lyn shook her head, concern seeping into her voice. "I'm not sure, Mark, but something's bothering her."

"Her missing companion?"

"That'd be my guess." Lyn turned to the tactician. "What should we do?"

Mark shrugged in response. "What can we do? Her friend was lost at sea. For all we know, he has been dead since then." Mark paused, watching Mia's shrinking form. "She is no doubt considering that possibility. The best we can hope for is the good fortune that they will find each other." Mark gestured towards the field. "Come. It's not wise to separate from the group."

--

Ike stared through the window beside his bed, watching the snow falling in the night sky, reflecting the light of the fire in his room. The wind from the day's storm had died to a gentle breeze, swaying the snowflakes lazily.

"Made yourself comfortable, I see."

Ike didn't bother to turn around. _View's better this way._ "What is it?"

The man chuckled. "So unfriendly. And here I thought you would be grateful for our help."

Now Ike did turn around. "What help? The only thing I've done here so far is waste my time."

The hooded man raised his hands in appeasement. "Now, now, no need to be impatient. We still need a week to prepare."

"Why?"

The man moved to the small fireplace, kneeling in front of it and staring into the embers of the fire. "Such information, though easy to find, is hard to pass on to this part of Elibe." He grabbed the poker leaning to the side, jabbing into the dying flames. "I'm sure someone in our organization has already located your friend, but it will take a while to communicate that information."

Ike turned back to the window, getting tired of the conversation. "I hope you'll have the whereabouts of my friend soon then."

The man stood up, brushing off the stray burnt wood shaving that had fallen upon him. "Don't worry, you will get what you came for." He strode towards the door. "Just remember your part of the plan, and everything will go smoothly." The door slid shut as that last sentence left the hooded man's lips, ending the conversation.

Ike frowned, the beauty of the outside losing its appeal. He fell onto the bed next to the window, its lumpy texture molding unevenly to his back. He stared up at the ceiling, the shadows of the fire dancing along the panels above him. Ike shifted to his side, pulling his cloak around his body. His eyes slowly drifted shut, and his mind wandered to dreams of friends left behind and a companion lost.

Hope this chapter was to your liking. Until next time.


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